


When Earth Freezes Over

by WorseOmens



Series: Good Omens AUs [8]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Demeter Gabriel, Fake Kidnapping, Family Drama, Fem Gabriel, Fluff, Forbidden Romance, Hades and Persephone AU, I am the captain of this ship, I barely know anything about Greek myth, M/M, Mild Angst, Overprotective Parenting, Persephone Aziraphale, Secret Relationship, Zeus being Zeus, and we do things my way, and what I do know I have edited accordingly, artistic licence with Greek myth, crowley is soft, hades crowley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-25 14:21:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30090453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorseOmens/pseuds/WorseOmens
Summary: When Earth freezes over, it’s springtime for the Underworld — but it wasn’t always that way.Aziraphale, God of Spring, was once isolated from the other gods by his overbearing mother. Crowley, God of the Underworld, wanted him to take the freedom he deserved — and all it took, in the end, was a little piece of fruit, and a lot of temptation.(Good Omens Hades & Persephone AU)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens AUs [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1663576
Comments: 43
Kudos: 93





	1. The Stranger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK listen up, and let's get a few things out of the way 
> 
> \- Zeus is NOT Persephone's father in this fic. In this AU, Cronus had three sons and three sons only: Hades, Poseidon, and Zeus, in that order. Demeter is NOT related to them in any way. 
> 
> \- the year is one-quarter spring, one half summer, and the remaining quarter is autumn. Persephone therefore presides over three-quarters of the year, with his most active role being played to usher in the start of the warmer months during spring, and doing mostly maintenance in summer

Being the god of spring was... fine. There was nothing wrong with it. Well, apart from the overbearing mother — her _official_ name was Demeter, but he wasn't about to call his own mother by her work title. Her personal name was Gabrielle. Both _his_ names were more of a mouthful: he was Persephone at work, and Aziraphale to... well, just his mother, really. He didn't see anyone apart from her, even when he was off-duty. He stayed at home, in their villa, overlooking a meadow that had never been touched by human hands. Much as he was fond of mortals, he was glad to keep some distance between him and them when he needed time to relax.

Speaking of jobs that were nothing to write home about, there was another god dragging his feet up the mountain trail, toward the meadow which lay on the verdant plateau. It lay beyond the view of most other gods, sheltered by trees and crags of rock. Demeter — for this visitor was here on purely professional grounds — was a very private sort of goddess. Hades didn't blame her. His little brother Zeus was hardly a model house guest. He grumbled, far too hot under his dark robes and far too stubborn to think of dressing appropriately before venturing out of the Underworld. Demeter refused to leave her precious meadow unguarded, forcing him to make a house call instead. She claimed to have treasures that other gods would rend the earth to get their hands on, and when Hades (or Crowley, to his handful of friends) dryly asked why she was telling him that, she'd laughed. _Since when have you ever coveted others' treasures, O God-of-the-Dead?_

So, that was how he'd ended up being dragged out of his perfectly functional office and up into the bright, loud above-world. Demeter had some powers over the cycle of life and death and, sadly for Hades, that made them colleagues. By all accounts, he'd have preferred never to have met this particular goddess. She answered the door with the same tight-lipped, haughty look on her face she always did, dressed in greys and purples that Crowley could never fathom. Wasn't she all about autumn, and harvest time? Why not orange? Green? Yellow? He shrugged it off, grunting as she beckoned him into the modest white marble villa. She didn't care much for buildings. Most of her land was taken up by flora, every inch green and overflowing with produce. 

He lingered, only half-listening, as she took him into her office. It was sparse and clinical, obviously largely unused, unlike Crowley's red marble desk down below which was always stacked with some paperwork or other. His eyes began to drift, away from the pendulum-swing of Demeter's high ponytail, and toward the window. There was a clearing out there, flush with wild grasses, spring flowers, and — wait, spring flowers? What on earth were snowdrops and daffodils doing, flowering at this time of year? He took a step toward the window, only for the harvest goddess to block his path like a stone wall.

"What are you looking at?" she said, her purple eyes hard with suspicion. 

Crowley took a step back. "The field. Just curious," he said, perturbed. He backed away from the window, curiosity prickling at the back of his mind. 

"Yes, well, if you could stay focused for just half an hour, you can go and be curious back where you belong," she said, with a derisive glance at the floor. He huffed, and leaned against the desk, trying to pay attention. She had a point. If he could just suffer her a little longer, he could get back home all the sooner.

Half an hour, though, quickly turned into two hours. They couldn't seem to agree on things, but then again, they never saw eye to eye on matters of life and death. More often than not, they ended up just throwing their hands up in defeat and splitting things fifty-fifty. Before that, though, neither one wanted to be the first to relent. Demeter eventually got so worked up she decided to search her archives for the papers that would surely prove her case, and it was only as her footsteps faded from the office that Crowley stopped rolling his eyes and started gravitating back toward the window. What was it she was touchy about him seeing, anyway? Some out-of-season wildflowers? That was hardly a scandal, and he would know. Zeus was the king of scandals.

His yellow eyes scanned the meadow, half expecting to see nothing. He almost did. His gaze skipped over the figure sat among the grasses, their white robes standing out against the greens and mellowing tones of spring. He tilted his head. Who was that...? He glanced over his shoulder, straining his ears. He didn't hear Demeter coming back yet. What would be the harm in going to introduce himself? Making up his mind, he ducked out of the office, and headed out into the blazing sunlight. 

He looked closely at the figure as he approached, unconsciously stalking through the grass with all the deadly silence of a predator. He kept trying to recognise this other god. It had to be a god, didn't it? No mortal glowed in the sun like that. Only the finest statues could hope to catch a shadow of the perfection in the line of this stranger's neck as he tilted it to the side, idly admiring a passing flock of songbirds. Hades' shadow fell over him. 

The stranger jumped, and squinted up at the shape looming over him. "Oh! Hello there," he said, getting to his feet, dusting grass seed from his robes and standing straight. "Terribly sorry, I wasn't aware we had company. Erm."

"I thought Demeter lived alone," he said, eyes flicking up and down his form. The other god didn't seem to know how to respond, until he reached out his hand to shake. "Hades. But, if you like... you can call me Crowley."

Aziraphale felt a flutter in his chest as they shook hands. He'd finally got to speak to someone, another god, not a mortal! He was so caught up in it that the name Hades didn't process at first. "Persephone. Or Aziraphale, if you like," he said brightly. Crowley arched a brow. 

"You're the elusive Persephone, eh? Thought I'd heard you were a goddess," he said.

He scoffed. "Mortals like to think so. I haven't the patience to correct them," he said, shaking his head. When he looked up again, he finally took in the yellow eyes — crinkled in amusement — and the long red hair, and the black robes... He gulped. "Um. Sorry. Hades, was it?"

"Oh, please. It's Crowley to you," he said, already deciding that there was nothing professional about this meeting. 

"Um. Yes. Well, jolly good," he said, fidgeting in place. He smiled skittishly. "Terribly sorry. It's just that — I've never really met many other gods, apart from my mother, and — and — well, I didn't expect my first proper conversation with one would be with you!"

Crowley was about to chuckle before his brain caught up to his words. "Hang on. You mean, you've never met — ?"

He was cut off by the sound of Demeter's shrieks. She was storming through the tall grasses, her expression thunderous and, if he didn't know any better, Crowley would say she looked scared. In truth, she was. The whole point of this remote little mountain sanctuary was to keep Aziraphale safe — away from the other gods, away from _Zeus._ Aziraphale had all the grace and delicate beauty and innocence she just _knew_ Zeus would want to spoil for himself. She'd kept him shielded. She hadn't seriously thought that Hades would even notice the other god in the villa, and even if he did, surely he'd not take any notice. After all, when had the God of the Dead ever coveted others' treasures? When she'd spotted that thin, dark figure so close to her boy, she felt a wave of nausea crash over her immediately. This was all wrong. 

She grabbed Crowley's arm as soon as she drew near. "Hades, we were in a meeting," she snapped, her nails digging into his arm, not that he noticed. He only spared a short glance for her before looking back at Aziraphale, drawn to him like a moth to a flame, like he just couldn't help himself. Panic bucked in her chest. For ages, she’d feared Zeus, but what if she'd been looking in the wrong direction all this time? 

"You didn't tell me your son was here, Demeter," he replied, finally turning to look at her properly as Aziraphale fiddled with his white robe. He could tell his mother was in a foul mood already. He wasn't meant to talk to house-guests, but in his defence, he had been approached first. 

"Why should you care?" she said, dragging him back toward the house, but not before jabbing a finger at Aziraphale. "And you! We'll discuss this later."

Crowley looked back over his shoulder as he was pulled back into the villa. His heart sank to see Aziraphale slump down, dejected, upset... Had he done that, Crowley wondered? Had he got him in trouble? He was forced to look back at the harvest goddess again when she thrust a sheet of paper against his chest.

"Here, take it and go," she demanded, and he blinked at the form she'd signed, giving him every last morsel he'd been wrestling for that whole morning. That never happened. "On one condition."

He huffed. "What?" he said. He should've known there would be a catch. 

"You don't tell anyone about Persephone. Not that he lives here, not what he looks like, nothing. You especially don't mention it to Zeus or Poseidon," she said, hands curled into fists. She couldn't honestly hope to match Crowley's power, and that was what worried her. The three brothers, the trifecta of gods, could be an unstoppable force if they ever wanted to be. She'd never seen Hades _want_... and she feared that she spotted a flicker of interest in his eyes, when he glanced back out the door at the pale shape outlined against the blue sky. 

"Hm... yeah, don't worry," Crowley said, who knew the risks just as well as she did, and he had no intentions of letting that lovely spring-god fall foul of them. "I'm not telling my brothers a damn thing."

It took days before Aziraphale stopped thinking about Hades. You could hardly blame him; his mother never let him go far from the house during the latter part of the year — her time, when spring and summer had worn themselves out, and gave way to the last quarter of the year, which mortals called Autumn. His work, during the warmer portion of the year, kept his mind occupied, even if he was never allowed to speak to anyone but mortals. They made very poor conversation sometimes, though. Aziraphale had given up trying to tell them he was a god. Everyone seemed to think he was meant to be a goddess. He only had the patience for that conversation so many times in a millenium. Hades had accepted the correction far more gracefully than the mortals. 

Only, he'd said to call him Crowley, hadn't he? His personal name. What an honour; his first meeting with another god — one he wasn't related to, at least — and it was the eldest son of Cronus, and the Lord of the Underworld himself! Should he have bowed, he wondered...? He wandered along the craggy mountain path, straying from the villa. His mother would come looking for him if he wasn't back before evening, or if she began to suspect he'd strayed too far down the mountain. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't notice the thin figure leaning against a gnarled tree, until he cleared his throat.

Aziraphale jumped. "O — Oh! Had — I mean, Crowley," he said, floundering for a moment before remembering to bow this time. "Mother's in the house, but she's terribly busy."

"S'not her I'm looking for," he replied, tilting his head, inspecting the younger god curiously. He'd gotten a good look already, before Demeter dragged him off, but he wanted another. Something about Aziraphale was lingering in his mind, enough to tempt him back to the surface. "How come I've never met you before, hm?"

Aziraphale shrugged, and fiddled with his hands. He glanced over toward the valley that stretched out below them like a cat in the sunshine, a river gleaming like a vein of gold on the distant ground. "Mother worries for me. She seems to think I can't look after myself," he said.

"Well, can you?" 

He raised his chin. "I like to think I could put up a fair fight," he said. 

Crowley smiled. "Let's hope you never have to," he said, finally leaning up off the tree and sauntering down the slope until they stood side by side. "Still. There's worse places to be trapped. You've got a nice view from up here."

"It gets rather stale after a while," he said sourly. 

Crowley rocked back and forth idly on his heels. He pursed his lips as he picked his next words. "Fancy a change of scenery?" he asked. 

"Pardon?" he said, looking across at him, a frown creasing his brow. Crowley nodded at the open vista in front of them, from the rolling mountain range, to the deep furrow of the valley, all the way to the untouchable horizon and that hid behind it. 

"There's a lot of world out there," he said. He watched his expression carefully, sensing a conflict there. "You can shapeshift like the rest of us, surely, so what's stopping you?"

He squirmed, avoiding his eyes. "Mother would be terribly disappointed."

"Mother doesn't have to know," he purred, leaning closer, until he could feel Aziraphale’s warmth rolling off him. Paradoxically, it made him shiver. A warm touch was hard to come by, in the land of the dead. 

Aziraphale crossed his arms. "Now, that's hardly appropriate. I've only just met you," he said haughtily. With a sigh, Crowley drew back. Fair point. "I can't just go — go gallivanting off with the first man who waggles his eyebrows at me!"

Crowley spluttered. "I didn't — waggle — ?" he said, stumbling over his words, until he finally scowled and gathered himself. "I didn't do that."

"Oh, forgive me. I didn't realise there was a mirror on my forehead," he replied, rolling his eyes. "You most certainly did."

He shook his head. "You most certainly did," he mocked under his breath, earning a hard look from the spring-god. "Look, suit yourself, flower, but _I'm_ going for a flight down the valley. You're welcome to join me — if you can keep up."

Aziraphale scoffed, and was about to protest again, when Crowley’s form turned sooty black and folded in on itself in a flurry of feathers, until an oversized crow perched on the rock by his knee. The crow cawed once, and spread his wings, gliding down into the open air. Aziraphale watched the dark shape soar, rapidly getting smaller; with a sudden rush of impulsiveness, his form began to shift. White feathers sprouted under his arms and down his front, until he leapt from the craggy mountainside as an enormous barn owl. The whistle of cold air under his wings sent a thrill through him, and he barely had the presence of mind to swoop lower as he caught a glimpse of the villa on the plateau. He didn't want his mother spotting him. 

Crowley cawed in delight when Aziraphale drew level with him. "Hello again, Aziraphale!" he cried over the rush of the air. "Nice of you to join me."

"Yes, I — I've never done this before!" he replied skittishly, flapping his wings. 

"What, flown?"

"No, you daft old crow, I've never run off like this before," he replied, a shriek in his voice as the barn owl aspect shone through. Crowley reeled for a moment, in shock and giddy excitement. Oh, this was brilliant. Who dared insult Hades to his face? Nobody — until now!

He let out a bark of corvid laughter. "Then let's have a bit of fun, eh?" he said, tucking his wings and diving beak-first toward the valley floor. With a shriek of alarm, Aziraphale swooped down after him. 

Crowley spread his wings and levelled out barely soon enough to avoid crashing into the broad expanse of the river that cut through the mountains. He felt the rush of air and rustling feathers as Aziraphale trailed close behind, and he couldn't resist showing off, dipping his wing to drag his primary feathers through the foaming, glittering water. He could feel Aziraphale's curious eyes watching his every move. He doubted Demeter ever let him out of the house, save for the spring and summer months when there was work to do. No god had ever caught more than a glimpse of Persephone. Now here he was, gliding on the wind, right by Crowley's side. It felt like an honour, in some way. 

He flapped his wings, coming to a halt on a branch that hung over a set of rapids, the water frothing as it broke over the rocks. The branch dipped lower as Aziraphale landed beside him, shuffling nervously closer to the trunk, and only succeeding in pressing his wing against Crowley's. "I've never had a chance to stop and watch the scenery quite like this," he admitted, fidgeting. "The valley looks awfully different from the ground."

"Looks even more different from below," he said wryly, with a brief gesture toward the Underworld. He snickered. "I don't tend to do much looking up. Not a flattering angle — especially for humans."

Aziraphale tittered. "I can imagine," he said. There was a short pause, filled only by the roar of the water below them. "Is your domain terribly different to the earth?"

"Very," he said. "Bit dark, bit spooky."

"Oh dear," he said in sympathy.

"Nah, s'alright. Big spooky fan, me," he said. He nudged him gently with one wing. "I'll take you to see it someday, if you like; I'll show you around the palace, we'll have a laugh. It'll be fun."

"I...I'm not sure mother would like that," he said nervously. 

He scoffed. "She can't control everything you do, flower," he said. 

"Oh, she can," he said grimly. He gripped the tree branch a little tighter, his talons pricking the soft bark. "I'm not powerful enough to argue with her, and she knows it. I wouldn't expect you to understand. You're _Hades._ Nobody tells you what to do."

"Hm. S'pose," he said. "Perks of being a king."

"I don't expect I'll ever have the privilege," he said. Crowley glanced at him from the corner of his eye. It was odd, trying to reconcile that simple barn owl with the poise and dignity of Aziraphale in his usual form. 

"Ah, you never know," Crowley said, with the bird equivalent of a shrug. "You could marry well."

"You think?" he said, tilting his head as those beady eyes — unnaturally blue, marking him out as a creature simply masquerading as an owl — watched Crowley with curiosity.

"Don't see why not."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand we’re back! Here’s a little taster of my newest AU for you all, there’s quite a few more chapters still to come because this one ran away with me a little bit. I haven’t decided on an update schedule yet, but watch this space! More to follow


	2. New Blooms

Aziraphale felt bad, sometimes, for lying to his mother about his newfound friendship with Crowley. Crowley said he shouldn't, because there would be no need to lie if she just allowed him a little more freedom to do as he pleased. "A god your age should have his independence by now," he told him, on one of their many walks together, through the windswept copse of trees on the far side of the mountain. "You're not a child anymore."

"Well, strictly speaking, I was never a child," he said, delicately taking his hand as he helped him over a log in the path. "Mother made me from braiding sheaves of wheat from many years' harvests, until I came to life under a harvest moon. Then the humans somehow got the notion that I was another of Zeus's brood, and let me tell you, she wasn't best pleased about that — and she still isn't."

He snorted. "Can't blame her. Everyone knows she'd rather snog Hephaestus than let my brother within six feet of her," he said, rolling his eyes at the thought of his irritating little brother. "Besides... that's not the version of the story I heard."

"Oh?"

"Hm. Rumour had it that she'd had it off with a ear of maize right before you popped into existence," he snickered, and Aziraphale gasped, his face flushing dark red.

"Crowley! How very dare you even imply such a thing!" he cried, swatting his shoulder. “That’s my mother you’re talking about!”

He held up his hands. "Don't shoot the messenger, flower. It's just what I heard," he said, with a laugh. "I know it’s probably just nonsense. S'just funny to see her get wound up about it."

"You really don't get along with her, do you?" he said, a shrub blooming as he brushing past it, hardly even noticing. 

"Nope," he said, popping the P. "All she does is make my life harder. Never wants to share, you know? You've got no idea how often I have to fight her over the precise definition of what's dead, before she lets it pass on to my realm."

"Are there only dead things in the Underworld?" he asked, idly admiring the dappled sunlight making Crowley's hair a rich, glowing orange. 

"Mostly. But there's some stuff that's not. I'm not dead," he said, with a shrug. 

"It must be dreadfully boring, sometimes," he said, with the sudden urge to grasp his arm as he said that. He held back, nonetheless. He wasn't sure what his subconscious was trying to imply.

Crowley scoffed. "Everyone seems to think I've drawn the short straw, ruling the land of the dead — but if you ask me, they've just got no perspective," he said, holding aside a branch for Aziraphale to pass. "I have this same fight with Demeter every year, and it's just as pointless one year as it is the next, because whatever she wins, she knows I'll claim next year, anyway. It's inevitable."

"But we make new things every year, too. We don't need to hold onto it all forever," he said, watching the odd swinging gait Crowley walked with. It was charming, in a way.

"And they all come to me eventually, one way or another — and one day, the whole world will come down to my realm. Every fish, every bird, every flower and every human," he said, rolling his shoulders and raising his chin up high. It was one of the few times he truly looked like the Lord of the Underworld, proud and imposing. "I'll rule over everything my brothers once did, only _my_ reign will never end."

Aziraphale swallowed hard, and tugged on his robes. Has the sunshine suddenly got hotter, for some reason...? He fanned himself with one hand, and smiled. "You'll make a fine king of everything, yes, I'm sure," he said, clearing his throat and trying to suppress the fluttering in his belly. "But it strikes me it would be a terribly lonely job."

He shrugged, the fearsome king act dissolving again. "I've got my dog," he said. "Hermes comes and goes. Sometimes I go and have a chat with Charon."

"Or me," he said, watching the way he tensed up. 

"Or you," he agreed. "You'd be alright, in my realm. I'd set you up in a guest room, give you the key to the library, and you'd be all set."

"That sounds delightful," he said, hugging himself loosely as they emerged on the other side of the trees, feeling a light gust of wind ruffle his hair. "I'll have to pop down and stay for a few days — preferably before the end of the living world, mind."

"Yeah. Drop in whenever you like. In fact..." He reached for the pouch that hung from his belt, plucking out a handful of coins and pressing them into Aziraphale's hand. "Here. For the boatman, once you reach the Styx."

"Ah, thank you," he said, pocketing the coins. "I'll remember that."

Crowley watched Aziraphale intently, whenever he ate. Sometimes, he plucked some fruits from a bush as they strolled along on their secret walks together, and other times he would bring a small pouch of food from home. Today, he'd brought some of the offerings that had been made to him and his mother, from the humans at the Thesmophoria festival. He showed Crowley the little cakes with a bright smile. "They shape them like snakes," he said, settling in the shade of a weeping willow, its dangling branches veiling them from the rest of the world. "Isn't it quaint?"

"Yeah, nice," he said, leaning back on one hand as he sat down, which had nothing to do with the gold snake-armlet he felt suddenly embarrassed about. Snakes were a favoured form of his, not that he was about to admit it now.

Aziraphale broke off a piece and hummed as he popped it into his mouth. There had also been cakes on the altar shaped like phalluses, but he'd left those behind on this occasion. He figured it wasn't a snack best enjoyed in polite company. "It is an odd festival, at times, but I do enjoy it. Humans are very interesting to watch," he said, recalling how he'd ambled, unseen, among the women at the festival. "There's always something more to learn about them."

Crowley smiled. "Most gods assume there's not much to them," he said. 

"Tosh. They're not looking hard enough," he said. The other god hummed, half-listening as he watched him chew. It was a selfish thought, but... sometimes, Crowley imagined that it was his food Aziraphale was eating, from his table; that Aziraphale had gone below the earth with every intent to stay. Anyone who ate the food of the dead was bound there, unable to leave without Crowley's word. 

"I've never minded humans. There's plenty of them, down below," he said, with a vague gesture at the mossy ground. "They've got good tales to tell."

Aziraphale beamed. "Oh, don't they just?" he said dreamily, and shuffled a little closer, to Crowley's surprise, and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone. "Did I ever tell you about my guilty pleasure for human stories...?"

It was hard to keep his cool, when Crowley dropped into Demeter's villa again several years later, knowing full well his friend would be out in the meadow like usual. They'd been meeting regularly since that first flight down the valley, and it would've been the most natural thing in the world for him to call out and wave, grinning at him like no other god had seen him grin for eons. That would give up the whole charade, though. He didn't make any reference to Aziraphale, and Demeter didn't even mention her son. In fact, she'd assumed — and dearly hoped — that Hades had forgotten all about him. So long as spring arrived every year, just after the deep sigh at the end of harvest season, nobody came looking for Persephone. Nobody knew he was here. He was safe, hidden from the rest of the pantheon. 

Crowley slithered through the dark meadow. The grasses brushed over his scales, which glittered in the moonlight with every undulation of his long serpent's body. This was risky, but he had to do it. Demeter's villa loomed above him as he crawled over the marble steps, into the home, his forked tongue tasting the scent trails that criss-crossed the polished floor. He followed Aziraphale's scent, until he came to a door that stood just slightly ajar. He nudged it, pushing his snout through the gap and testing the air again, just to be sure he wasn't about to wake the wrong nature god. 

Deciding he had the right room, he slithered across to the bed, until he was close enough to rear up and take in Aziraphale's peaceful, sleeping face. He hissed. "Hey. Aziraphale," he said. The god stirred a little. "Flower, wake up. It's me. Crowley."

He cracked one eye open. "Crowley...? What are you doing here? It's awfully late," he said, lifting his head reluctantly from the pillow. 

"Outside. Come on," he said, taking the edge of the blanket in his mouth and tugging it off his shoulders. Aziraphale huffed, rolled his eyes, and sat up. "You'll like it."

"You know, if you were any other god, I'd be very suspicious," he said, his voice husky with sleep. To Crowley's surprise, he reached down and lifted him off the floor, draping his coils over his shoulders like a heavy scarf. It put a stopper in Crowley's mouth before he could find a clever retort. Aziraphale didn't seem to mind the silence as he quietly pushed open his door and crossed the hall, ducking out of the house and into the fresh night air. 

Crowley lifted his head, his eyes reflecting the wisps of light streaking through the pitch-dark sky. Aziraphale took a sharp breath. "Oh, Crowley..." he breathed, taking in the darkened landscape, crowned by shooting stars that rushed across the black canvas above his head. 

Crowley stared at him, at the awe in those delicate features, half-lit by the silver light... He stared at Aziraphale as if the stars themselves weren't falling, right over his head. "Told you you'd like it," he murmured. 

Crowley wished he had the courage to just offer his hand, and tell Aziraphale to come with him. He wanted to say, _Let me take you away from here, flower, just for one day. Let me show you my home,_ but for all his years and power and wealth, he was still a coward. He couldn't just spring that on him. At least, that's what he told himself. Aziraphale never had a problem with him dropping in for a woodland stroll, or a flight around the mountaintop, or a dip in the river. Somehow, he always stopped short of taking him down into the Underworld. It was a little bit of self-consciousness, a little bit of nerves, a little bit of... well. This was the shameful bit. A little bit of temptation; Aziraphale loved to eat, and it would be far too easy to offer him something down there. It would only take something as small as a pomegranate seed, and he'd be trapped, until Crowley let him out... even then, he'd have to come back. He wouldn't be able to stay away, not for longer than a year. That's what worried Crowley. It was too easy. He wouldn't do it, but the thought had crossed his mind, and that was bad enough. He wasn't like his brothers. He wasn't like _Zeus_ , and he refused to become another greedy son of Cronus, who grabbed whatever he wanted with no thought for anyone but himself. He wouldn't do that. 

Especially not to Aziraphale.

Gabrielle watched her son with a furrow in her brow. These last few years, he'd seemed distracted as he cultivated each spring, and then sat back to let his power flourish and grow, spreading warmth and light through most of the year, until he took his three-month rest during the harvest season. She wasn't sure what was wrong with him. As far as she could tell, nothing had changed. Their life followed the same rhythm it always had. But still, she often found Aziraphale staring out at the valley, fiddling with the coin purse on his belt. If he wasn't staring at the landscape, it was the dusk sky, reaching out to idly trace lines between the stars. He was growing wistful. What for, she didn't know. He had seen the world many times, when he went to begin spring and watch it roll into the long summer months, and he never tired of watching the humans living and thriving on the fruit of his labour. It couldn't be freedom he longed for. 

Unless he was hoping for independence, someplace away from her where he could live alone, but she'd never allow that. It was overbearing, she knew that, but it was for his own good. He'd be vulnerable on his own. He wasn't a child anymore, but he was still her son. She had to keep him beyond the reach of the other gods — especially the sons of Cronus. Well, apart from Hades, she supposed. He'd barely looked twice at Aziraphale, after all.


End file.
